


Nocturne

by DrowsyNelapsi



Category: MediEvil (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Morality, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowsyNelapsi/pseuds/DrowsyNelapsi
Summary: (A revision + continuation of a MediEvil II fanfic I did in 2017-18, Per the development of my character Zaezel)Unambitious and endlessly bored with himself, the demon Zaezel's intrigue is finally aroused when dark magic brews once again in his neck of the woods. This time, it is the work the sorcerer Lord Palethorn, some 500 years after the *last* one... (groan). Zaezel takes to London to see what all the fuss is about, witnessing the events that surround the story of MediEvil II from the shadowy margins--that is, the corners of Wulfrum Hall. Toward the beginning of his stay he becomes involved with the Count, a colorful character of a vampire whose extravagant manner entertain Zaezel. For the Count, it becomes a question of how far this fascination extends. Zaezel isn't sure it's a question he cares to answer, as he is thrust into more nefarious affairs.





	1. The Hall

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who was a fan of the prior publishing and came to see a happy vampire/demon romance seen through: 
> 
> I am So Sorry.
> 
> -Chapters gradually get longer as the fic continues.-

“How sweet it is to see, across the misty gloom,  
A star born in the blue, a lamp lit in the room,  
Rivers of chimney smoke, rising in purplish streams,  
The pale of the glow of the moon, transfiguring the scene.”  
-Charles Baudelaire, “Landscape” 

By that evening, the gutters overflowed. Previous forecasts fell short, with torrents coming down some hours past the rain’s due. Which, of course, only mattered to Zaezel, who he plodded along sans an umbrella. He held his collar over his head, taking cover within as comfortably as he could manage. The most the houses lining the streets offered was for the occasional overhanging tarp, but such shelter rarely showed. This doomed him to suffer the downpour. 

Fortune had it that pedestrian traffic was scarce, sparing him from the torrents of muddy water the fleeing urchin might send up. If nothing else, that made it tolerable--he feared a dirty waistcoat more than anything. What a shame to ruin new clothes. He smiled on the memory--how easily one could acquire a suitable ensemble when demonic turmoil preoccupied the populace of London. A little theft here and hurt few, what with other demons assaulting townspeople left and right but never minding the higher-end stores. Surely, Zaezel couldn’t afford a surprise appointment dressed in any less than the finery befitting such a proud creature. 

In Zaezel’s case, the owner of the tailor’s place fled the establishment sometime prior to his arrival. The demon never passed up an easy grab, and he knew easy enough how to make his selection. Anything more than a shirt, vest, tie, and coat he reasoned impractical, as no trousers reached quite long enough to conceal his scaly legs, while typical dress shoes refused to fit his feet. Before leaving, Zaezel noticed a store of canes by the door. He drew one up from the arrangement, a glinting specimen topped with a bird’s brass head. Why feel bad about indulging in a little trinket? They could always make more in this age of industry. Zaezel, in comparison to the more well-off human, only had rare occasions to come up and find himself something nice. He deserved a little dress-up. 

The belltower called 9 tolls in the distance. He ground his teeth, tail lashing. Lord, how steeple bells split his ears and frazzled his composure--but the volume served a practical purpose. Otherwise, how would the nighttime traveler such as Zaezel know the time? He set the hours before him in his mind, plotting his schedule. He had a whole night ahead to spend somewhere, the issue rested in finding a bunk. One couldn’t count on all of the dark legions to be cordial. Passing another specter or demon did not ensure a conversation or even amiability, permitting that each party spared the other a nasty scrap in the first place. 

More pressing was the rain. Wind tossed it slant against the streets, drops ricocheting in every direction. No private residences would be open while families hid and cowered in the wake of Palethorn’s destruction. Maybe a public place sat unclaimed, if not already overrun by the infernal beings. That presented again the issue of sociability. It depended on what type of creature inhabited the building. Most creatures held to their own: goblins with goblins, ghouls with ghouls, demons with demons, and so on. 

He decided to leave it to chance. Zaezel knew his high chance ending up with a poor crowd and prepared himself likewise. As soon as the rain stopped, he hoped to be back on the street and out of trouble...he hoped. He worked his way down side streets, away from the main road. The proximity of houses at either side provided a degree of cover en route to whatever place the maze of alleys ushered him towards. It was not a predetermined journey, indeed, he would end up wherever the ground plan lead. 

The alleyways wound back and forth, tight corner after tight corner, taking sharp turns left and right. He rode a jagged line to somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t so cramped. How hard was it to find a meeting house or office building? The shopping district blended into the residential. One moment he thought he saw at a shop front, but looked up to see windows lined with floral curtains and personal items. Could these people keep anything linear? He scampered between tight walls, searching for the phantom of the moon above to give him direction. If it weren’t raining, he’d sooner crawl the eaves. 

At least the rain didn’t touch him. However, bricks strangling him at either side while maneuvering through cramped alleys made any worry about the rain a secondary concern. He outstretched his cane to pry into the spaces in front of him, feeling the width and clearance. Cool air escaped into the alley from somewhere other than above, somewhere ahead. When he reached out with his stick, no obstruction hit it. 

Zaezel stepped through the gap, moving air hitting him again. 

“Thank goodness,” he huffed. He shook the water off his cane. 

The demon evaluated the scene. Rain still came, pattering against the trees. Opposite him, the silhouette of a building sat against the murky wash of the sky. A plaque, situated close to the roadway, gleamed beside the gas streetlight. The plate read: 

WULFRUM HALL  
EST. 1798. 

“Well,” he took up his cane, “It’s better than nothing.”


	2. An Unkind Establishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaezel acquaints himself with the vampire coven occupying Wulfrum Hall, not without a little torment from said residents.

The eaves of Wulfrum Hall cut dramatic edges out of the night sky, its walls rising high to reinforce the breadth of the stately building. The heavy, low construction did not appear per the bland standard of most buildings Zaezel encountered, but instead felt solid and homey. At its foot laid the circle drive, ornamented at the center with a ring of hedges and flowers. Zaezel did not linger to admire the architecture. A shame that he couldn’t, but a greater shame to be sopping in the rain.

He padded up the stone stairs to the door, swinging it open without hesitation. The dry room provided instant relief from the rain. His fervor fell away in the warm, dull lighting of the foyer. He shut the door behind him, the drum of rain fading out.

“That was a trek,” muttered the demon. “Should have brought a hat along.” His fingertips pressed against the back of the other hand, working the sinews. Zaezel’s nonchalant demeanor belied a worry for his reception. He doubted a building so prominent evaded occupation by the monsters now roaming London.

“Ho-hum…”

Zaezel made his way through the front room. If he were to be seen, it did not necessarily equate capture. If he were to be captured, well, he had escaped times before. If he did not escape? Merely a chance to test his cunning. Fortune feeling kindest would send him into a group of dimwit creatures who would sooner contemplate the color of the wall stain than notice him. At her more ill nature, Fortune would have the next door reveal a clan of rival creatures, sharply endowed in wit and fang. Ah, but if she intended things more loathsome yet, Palethorn himself stood close by and plotted to induct Zaezel, a free-roaming demon, into his army.

Sometimes he wondered at that scenario, and if it would truly be the worst outcome. He’d be sacrificed like another one of Palethorn’s grunts, no doubt, unless Zaezel proved his skill trumped others of his kind… Little hope remained in the way of that trick. Rumor held that another denizen of the netherworld alleged themself to Palethorn, one whose magic surpassed any ability of Zaezel’s.

Zaezel lacked the brutality Palethorn’s legions employed. He was agile but poorly versed in fighting tactics. He doubted his means to muster the wrath that allowed other demons to fight without remorse. Zaezel knew the motivation, but what good reason did he have to fight Daniel or Kiya or the Professor, or whatever do-gooder Reggie set his eye on maiming? During Zarok’s reign, Zaezel remained indifferent to the bony knight, no less now. He minded his business, Daniel kept to his own. Best it stay that way.

The floor above him creaked. The footsteps traced short, slow lines back and forth. Right then, the next level must be populated, what about this one? He assessed things for himself at the nearest entryway. To the left, an open doorway lead to a room set lower into the ground. He recalled the slope of the earth, the slight hill beneath the building. A portion of either wing rested in front of the building and thus at the hill’s base.

Zaezel peered into the doorway. Counters lined the perimeter of the dingy room. Pots and pans dangled from racks while other cookware spilled strewn out on the counter. A man rounded the corner. His back, comically arched, overshadowed his pouchy green face. Zaezel sneered--if this was all the danger he faced, goofy-looking zombies, then he’d happily reside elsewhere in the Hall without disturbance.

Beside the hunched man, a smaller figure pranced in a frilly red dress. She constantly moved, twirling and frolicking around the kitchen. Her pigtails bounced as she bounded from here to there, humming an obnoxiously off-key rendition of a nursery rhyme. The undead man didn’t pay her any mind, continuing to work at the counter. Whilst he prepared pots to make a meal, the girl wandered. She opened every single low-lying cupboard she came across. Her investigation of the room stopped when she spotted the demon looking in the doorway.

“Eep!” She squealed and darted for him. The hunchback turned, her commotion commanding his attention as well. The man lumbered behind her.

“Now now-” Zaezel held his hands out to discourage her coming closer, but the girl leapt onto him. Her small hands clung like hooks into his flesh. Zaezel shrieked. The girl scaled his legs, shouting and giggling like it was the most fun ever, better than any amusement park ride.

“Hehe!” The girl hastened her ascent, reaching Zaezel’s waist. The demon hissed and batted her off of him. The girl yelped, going _thump_ right on her rear. After a moment, she got back up and came after him again. Terrified, Zaezel fled from the room, pursued both by the girl and the man from the kitchen.

Through the corridor he heard her steps pattering behind his own quickening stride. How could such a small child run so fast? Further off, the slow sound of the other man followed. He threw the next door open, slamming it behind him. Zaezel thrust his back flush to the door. He listened. The footsteps stopped.

“Oh lord, I think she’s gone…” He made a note not be venturing back _there_ again. The door thumped. Very well, maybe too early to call that. Zaezel locked the door before he let himself venture further. Moonlight shone into the room from above. He raised his gaze to see the high window through which the light drifted.

His eyes hung on the moon. He’d hardly a chance to see it while rushing about outside in his hasty escape from the rain. Droplets slid down the window pane, the moon’s image running in the water like white paint. How long since its rise? Hard to tell with the rain on the glass, but it looked to be waxing. He would have liked to stay in town for the full moon.

The door hinges creaked behind him. He remembered the pursuit, and minding it, went up the staircase opposite him. Hopefully the girl’s desperation didn’t drive her to follow him up to the next story. At the top of the stairs, he paused. No noise came from the door nor any indicating the girl chasing after.

“What a relief…” he said, crossing into the next room.

“So, _you’re_ the marigold we heard crying downstairs?”

He looked up. Vampires sat all around, some busied at tables, others standing by. They smoked, played cards, or otherwise minded themselves, disengaging with it all as soon as Zaezel entered. Their cold eyes focused on him, ears perked to receive any alarm. Should one move upon him, the rest would come barreling down.

A particularly ragged one addressed him. His burly arms bulged from his shirt, a dark cloak slung over one shoulder. The vampire stood shorter than Zaezel, but he knew that his strength had to be double his own. His stomach churned. Already his conscience backed down, refusing to engage the vampire in any way that may bring conflict.

“Have you got a tongue in your mouth or are you dumb? You don’t look like the dull demons Palethorn has scouting the city.”

Zaezel chewed his lip.

“The little girl...She wouldn’t let go of me.”

The crowd erupted into laughter.

“Well, you’ll have a fun time here in the nest! We’ve got plenty more nice little girls who would love to have a new friend.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

The vampire sneered. The two at the table shuffled cards again, provoking a glare from the one in front of the group. Once again, they fell quiet.

“Are you some sort of new lackey for the sorcerer, then?”

“Pardon me?”

“‘Pardon’? You heard me. Are you one of Palethorn’s underlings? You’re not one of those gargoyle types, surely you’ve got some better job.”

“I’m not affiliated with Palethorn or the knight.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I wanted to get out of the rain.”

The vampire took a seat at one of the desks. A smile played across his face. Zaezel thanked the infernal powers for sparing him from a fight. Maybe these vampires worked with Palethorn? Did independent groups exist? Zaezel heard that Palethorn controlled demons, no vampires. But what kept them here? Did the dark magic attract them by nature?

“You see, demon, we’re more or less under Palethorn’s rules...by association. We’ve got a little pact made with him. If you’re his servant, you’ve nothing to worry about. He has those in his direct command relaying information in the night to us constantly.” The vampire tossed his cloak over the chair. Without him standing over them, the vampire’s companions went back to their business, the air of hostility dissipated.

Zaezel went over to the desk.

“You don’t go out to see him yourself?”

“We’re comfortable here, right where we sit. Why waste that for him?”

He nodded. That made enough sense. If Zaezel had someplace to retreat, untroubled by the goings on outside, he would gladly keep to himself.

“Did he call you here?”

“What? Palethorn?”

“Yes, did you come just to do his work or were you already in the city?”

“We were living in the city, only in hiding. He incited our emergence.” Before Zaezel could reply, the vampire cut in again. “If you’re sleeping here, you’re getting the basement. This whole story is ours, the one above is taken, and you’re not going to want the main floor.”

“Mmh,” the demon grunted. “Is there a library here, perhaps? I’d like to read if nothing else.”

“‘Is there a library?’” The vampire mocked in falsetto. “Yes. More in the interior, be quick on your way there, it’s past the kitchen again. I know you love Violet.”

“Violet?”

“Who do you think I mean?”

“Ah, the girl.”

“Ah, her. Right.” The vampire rolled his eyes. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. He pulled Zaezel closer. “Unless you’ve got some real marvel way of entertaining us or some great news, you can concern yourself with another bunch of our kind lurking about this place. This Hall fits a hundred of us, so you’re bound to find _somebody_ who can stand your _stupid_ frilly talk. And for the love of your little moustache, _don’t_ let anybody direct you to the one in charge. You’ve already made an awful presentation of yourself here.”

Zaezel fumed in silence. Who gave this vampire the right to insult how he looked? As if his brutish, broad-shouldered physique was much more appealing than Zaezel’s, who'd apparently been ruined by his maker via a bit of facial hair. His ‘frilly talk’... It made the demon’s tail bristle. He clenched his hands.

“Very well.” He left it at that and stomped out.

The nerve! The vampire never so much as asked Zaezel’s name. Surely he didn’t bother, Zaezel was just that intolerable. He ought to have padded off into another room of the second story, met another band of the vampire clan, and… No, they’d take to him just the same. From the floor below he heard their movements echoed, laughter and shuffling feet, the beating of wings elsewhere. If only they had been demons, or at the very least, sociable. What a waste of so large a crowd, not a single individual to socialize with.

Maybe he was better off in the library.


	3. Head of the Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaezel occupies himself in the Hall's library while the other residents about their business

“‘When searching for the time, the cadence to which you should orient yourself in the course of official work’…” he tossed the book aside. “What will I do with all that mess about office work? Isn’t there anything better to be read here?”

  
Zaezel sat in an armchair near the library’s back wall. Finding an entertaining book proved meticulous work. Beside him, a pile of drab, underwhelming books accumulated. So far he had read about office buildings, surveying, banking, work ethic, and architecture, none capturing his imagination. The mundane bored him. Earlier he assumed there was a section of fantasy or the supernatural. So far, such a section evaded discovery.

  
The demon perused the shelves. He felt it a waste not to be reading or engaging himself some way. 9 o’clock, a whole night ahead! The search for a book whittled away at his time, using up the minutes. Minutes, chips peeled from the remaining hours, carving away until dawn broke and the demon returned to bed. Dawn at 7 in the morning, he figured, less than 10 hours by now. 10 hours struggling to occupy himself in this bore of a library, with nobody to talk to other than the indifferent vampires.

  
No retreat remained past the library, unless he fancied a scrap with the corpses wandering the streets or the dreaded sorcerer. The demon could not withdraw into himself, nothing new to discuss with the one he always talked to. If decent prose or poetry did not surface, the demon risked losing his mind. Interaction with people, others who spoke and articulated and joked, remained the lone cure for his exhausted catalogue for intrigue. He craved new ideas, new experience, a new psyche to explore.

  
“The cathedral?” Someone asked in the room above.

  
“Yes, the cathedral.”

  
Zaezel took to the conversation. Would this be food enough for his hungering mind? Though the floorboards muffled the sounds, his ears held keen to the tones of the voices. He knew of the cathedral…

  
“He’s got a whole lot of work put into it, doesn’t he?”

  
“It won’t matter in the end of it.” Quiet. Feet shuffled.

  
“Why do you say that, huh?”

  
“Well, we’re betting on the dead guy, aren’t we?”

  
“Maybe you are, but I’m not. I’m not willing to stake it all on him. I hardly think he’s a threat.” Zaezel frowned. He recognized this as the voice of the vampire that insulted him.

  
“Then what do you see in it?”

  
“Palethorn’s sure the last pages of the book are in the cathedral, now…” the voice lowered. Zaezel scaled the armchair, pressing his ears nearly flat to the ceiling to hear. “...No telling what he would give if they were ours…”

  
“But,” a voice squeaked, “What would that make Palethorn think of the C--”

  
The door of the room above creaked open. A heavier body entered the room. They had to be wearing some huge boots, since the feet fell as loud as they would in the room beside Zaezel. The other feet scuffed the carpeting. He sensed their pause, the hesitation in movement.

  
“Count!”

  
The vampires spoke as if expecting punishment. Zaezel anticipated the boom of the newcomer’s voice. Surely this was an authority figure coming to scold them.

“Ah, why such grim countenances on my own dearest friends? You haven’t forgotten the game I planned this evening, have you?”

  
A moment passed before the others laughed.

  
“Oh, no, I suspected you were giving up on that!” The rude vampire chuckled uneasily.

  
“I may have had a late start, waking so far past dusk, but I did not forget! Palethorn said he would contact me when our services are needed, we have plenty of time to pass.”

  
The demon’s tail flipped side to side as he listened to the conversation continue. Satisfaction came from hearing the rude vampire’s voice waver in submission to the leader. He liked hearing him sound so weak. He snickered--that taught the bastard. Someone coughed behind him. Zaezel’s head whipped to see.

  
A vampire stood in the doorway. How long had she been there? The others must not have trusted him. Zaezel watched her. One of the two would have to move first. He hopped down from the chair. Before he hit the floor, the vampire caught him by the ankle. She swept him backward, yanking his leg up in the air. He fell down on his back. The breath rushed out of his lungs and he lay on the floor, unable to move for but a second.

  
She grabbed his hair and hoisted him up from the carpet. The back of his head buzzed, the sensation digging into his skull. The vampire wrenched her hand tight against his scalp and slammed his face into one of the shelves. His feet scrambled beneath him, wrestling the floorboards to pull their owner away from the attacker. For every pull he made to escape, she jerked him back towards her. Zaezel seized her wrist, trying to pry the fingers out of his hair. Her fangs sank into his fingers. The demon cried out, releasing her. With him distracted, she knocked him hard in the stomach. Zaezel gasped.

  
The vampire, taking this opportunity, drug him out of the library. _Oh no…_ He watched the carpeting of the main room pass by underfoot, then the hall’s flooring, a doorway, paintings, woodwork that all blurred when he looked from one to the other. They passed into the room where the stairwell was, as somewhere in the mess of his vision he discerned the banisters.

  
She took him back to the foyer, and he realized how fast they approached the front of the building. Blast it, she wanted to toss him outside! Did he warrant this punishment after eavesdropping? ...If only it didn’t hurt so badly, and a whole coven didn't wait upstairs...The whole would be on him, he feared, with no chance to react. She moved too fast.

  
“Polona!” The demon jarred to a halt. She laxed her hold.

  
“Count,” she replied.

  
The group of vampires all stood on the landing, looking down at her. All except their unaware leader brewed malice in their wide eyes. They shuffled in place, unsure of how to react. The impolite vampire, who Zaezel picked out among the crowd, bit his lip. It was the stain of guilt, that look on his face.

  
“Who is _that_?” The vampire at the forefront of the group asked. He drifted down from the landing, settling on the floor in front of Polona and the hunched demon.  
Zaezel glanced up at him. He could only raise his head up so much before pain shot up the back of his neck, forcing him to look mostly at the carpet. His eyes struggled to discern anything clearly, but he noticed the high boots adorned with skulls. Those boots, he supposed, he heard enter the room whilst he listened in the library, making the others go quiet. This had to be the Count. Zaezel scowled.

  
“_I_ was permitted to stay by one of your own,” Zaezel replied, grunting as he tugged himself free from Polona’s grasp. “And I am _very_ dissatisfied with the way he treated me. I don’t know if you would have allowed me to room here, but I think it’s awfully suspect that nobody even consulted you.” He stopped to breathe, his back still aching from his fall. A breath and he waited to see his anger received. At this juncture, he cared little about how he overstepped.

  
“Yes...It _is_ funny how some will make decisions when they are in no position to,” the Count replied. He glanced over his shoulder to the rest of the band. Zaezel had a feeling the offender and the rude vampire were one in the same… “It would seem that your arrival was kept secret from me. Of course, I am sure I need no introduction,” he declared, putting a hand to his chest to proudly present himself.

  
“I’m sorry. I don’t know you,” Zaezel replied. He hardly recalled or even cared enough with his awful pain skewing his thoughts.  
The Count’s eyes widened.

  
“Y-You don’t?” He nearly whimpered. “I am the _Count_!” The Count flourished, tossing his cape over his shoulder. “This behind me is my coven…” He muttered, “...For better or worse.” The vampire cleared his throat, tilting his chin up with the dignity of the queen herself. “It is unfortunate to see how poorly you have been treated, my friend.”

  
The apology did not sit well with Zaezel. Despite this, he remained collected. He just wanted the conversation to be over with.

  
“Nevermind, I--”

  
“Ah!” The Count cut in, “Where are my manners? I have not given you the chance to introduce yourself!” _Neither did your stupid lackey_, the demon thought.

  
“My name is Zaezel.” He did not add his typical flourish or even bow. He could hardly move enough for that, fixed in a doubled-over position. Blood began to drip from his nose. He did not regard it.

  
“You are bleeding.”

  
“I didn’t notice.”

  
The Count frowned.

  
“Here, how about you stay on this floor, there are plenty of guest rooms to choose from. Take your pick of them, I do not mind. Do not hesitate to join us, unless you plan on leaving of course.”

  
“I’ll keep that in mind...Thank you.” Zaezel stalked off down the hall without another word.

~

  
_I would be glad for hospitality, on any other occasion, but the man chose a bad time to try and make a good impression. What a lovely experience that was in the library. Such friendly creatures. He shook his head. Maybe I’ll feel better later, we can socialize then. He wasn’t the worst, not compared to the **other** one. I should learn **his** name as well…_

  
His attention turned to the rooms in front of him. With a shrug, he went into the farthest right one. When he entered, he was not dissatisfied by his choice--the room was furnished in lavish fabrics and deep colors. An armchair sat by the window. _If I can find a nice book somewhere, that chair could be my favorite spot to read._ He took a seat on the bed.

  
Taking off his coat, the demon looked over to the nightstand. A hand mirror and brush sat on top, as well as a page from a book. Zaezel grabbed the paper. He winced when moving his fingers.

  
“‘...Dresses were made, jewelry was made, cakes and gloves were made, settlements were made, and an extensive assortment of Facts did appropriate honour to the contract.’ Well, this must be about marriage.” The demon wiped his nose of blood, then continued. “‘The business was all Fact, from first to last. The Hours did not go through any of those rosy performances, which foolish poets have ascribed to them at such times; neither did the clocks go any faster, or any slower, than at other seasons.’” 

  
“Well, what good is a marriage if it is an exchange like business or money! There are much better ways to get your own ends… Who wrote this?” The demon brought the page closer to his face. “Oh!” He scoffed. “Of course it was Dickens! Well, Charles was always a realist. Hmph. Good thing I’m not human, they carry on so poorly.” Zaezel set the page back down. A drop of ebony blood fell upon it.

  
“Oopsy.” _Another reason I am glad I am not human--those vampires would have fell upon me as soon as they scented my blood! But a demon’s blood is bitter and makes them nauseous, I am told._ Zaezel put his coat over the armchair. After undoing his necktie, he set it along with.  
_Nine hours...Nine hours...maybe I can take a little nap._ Blood fell onto his thigh.

  
“Dammit.” He grabbed the Dickens page and used it to stop the blood, pinching it to his nose. The page chafed his skin. Pages..._What had those vampires said about pages? Something about the cathedral, Palethorn...Oh, I can’t remember. My head hurts too badly. I should sleep..._The demon fell back on the sheets. He squirmed, unable to rid of the aches lingering in his ribs.

  
_I should talk to him later…_ He adjusted the bloodied page. _He really wasn’t all that bad...He regarded me more warmly than any of the others did…_ He closed his eyes.

  
_I should sleep._


	4. First Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sound awakens Zaezel from sleep and he makes to investigate.

_Thum, thum, thum. _

The demon sat up from his bed. _Thum, thum, thum_, a heavy beat somewhere in the distance. He retrieved his clothes, dressing himself beside the chair. What made the noise--something with the rhythm of drums, but not so loud, and where from? He left the room once he dressed.

It took him a moment, but he recalled the corridor as he passed through it earlier. The intricacies of the building made it easy to get lost in, but the main passages were no trouble to navigate. In a moment, he knew the stairwell would be coming up. There was one stairwell, and another double staircase. He knew not the taller stairwell thus far, only the double one. Zaezel believed that the singular one lead up to the third floor, the only entrance to that story thus far. 

Vampires snarled ahead, making the demon slow his tread. Maybe they hadn’t been advised against hurting Zaezel. He quickly plotted an alternate path before he saw that they didn’t heed him. Instead they occupied themselves with a body dragged in from outside, some poor, half-conscious person. The demon cautiously stepped around the vampires and their meal. He walked on to search for the highest-reaching stairwell. 

_ ‘Don’t go on the third floor,’ that tasteless one had said. Pah! Watch him stop me! But I’m only partly venturing there out of spite._ He passed another band of feasting vampires. It dawned on him just how ugly half of them looked, milky eyes and chalky skin. Others such as Polona or the one rude one lacked the same level of animalistic features. The more competent ones, if the trend followed, appeared more human than feral.

_ Thum, thum, thum._ It rang louder now, but still impossible to locate. He doubted drums resonated the same way. _The strum of strings, I think. Or one great big string on one great big instrument. Where are the other strings, the accompanying violins? Maybe it’s some strange sort of dinner-music. _

“Hello.” Polona stood out of the group that fed. _She’s so brief, I don’t know what to make of her. That could be her goal._

“Hello. I hope I am not interrupting.” 

“You’re not interrupting anything that you haven’t already.” 

Zaezel went past her. _Lovely..._ He kept on to the stairs. She strove to bother him-- lingering only encouraged her. The demon reached the unfamiliar stairwell. 

_ Thum, thum, thum,_ humming in his ears. It had to be close. _The very stone of the walls quivers with the note of the strings._ He ascended. _Thum, thum thum._ A bass! A great string bass, plucked to a constant rhythm. But who, and again, when would the other instruments accompany? Unless, more disappointing, the player played for no better reason than to idly pluck at a string, and no more elaborate melody would come. He passed by a door to the second story, reaching the top of the stairs where a gilded door lead to the third floor. Zaezel opened the door. 

_Thum, thum, thum._ A ballroom sprawled out before him. Rails lined the perimeter of the lower level, coffins laid against the walls. The bass sat in the corner, a vampire joylessly plucking at the strings. At the room’s center, the Count stood, assessing the bassist. 

“Can’t you, er, do something a little faster? That way the others will play at the right pace.”   
The tempo of the bass sped up a couple beats, the player finally looking attentive. Others at the side took up their bows, one at a cello, another with a violin. The cello joined into the melody. Zaezel felt the music in the floorboards, droning up his legs and buzzing warmly in his chest. The Count, satisfied with the song, turned and swept across the floor.

Zaezel smiled, leaning over the railing. Before this, Zaezel saw little more than the Count’s boots. Now, he watched the vampire lord dance, for nothing more than his own amusement. _Look at how he flounces around the floor, his cape fluttering back and forth._ He snickered. _Funny one. _

The Count swayed and hummed the melody, sweeping circles around the dance floor. He noticed Zaezel looking on. 

“Ah, you’re awake--!”

“And _you’re_ dancing.”

“...I am.”

“You are.”

“I _am_…?”

“Dancing, enjoying yourself?” He grinned.

He laughed. “I am.” 

“Splendid.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You make it look effortless, even with your broad shoulders you're a graceful ballroom dancer.”

“Nothing is wrong with having strapping, powerful shoulders!” 

“Of course not,” the demon replied, descending into the lowered area, “But I wouldn’t expect someone who _dances_ to have such big shoulders.”

“The Count maintains elegance regardless of his physique! Besides, who would be afraid of me if I were meager and puny?”

“Not I.” He bowed low to the floor. “I meant to joke, I promise.” 

“No promise needs to be made, the actions will speak for themself.”

“As it goes.”

“You no longer bleed.” 

“Oh, that was dealt with before I took a nap. Used a stale old book page. I never liked Dickens.”

“Is...that an author?”

“You must be foreign.”

“You must think you are very funny.” That was to say, the accent made it obvious.

“No, I meant no offense in it!” But the exchange amused him, not without the Count playing his own part. “The only funny thing is in your replies to me.”

“You rebound quickly, it’s like you’re playing a game.”

“That is in my nature...Oh, you’ve killed it!”

“Killed what?”

“The mystique was greater when you didn’t acknowledge it. We could have kept spinning circles, left one another to be mystified, but the magic’s gone.”

“There is no absence of magic when a vampire dances, but your kind wouldn’t know.”

“Are you saying I am graceless? Because I cannot disappear in a cloud of bats?”

“I meant no offense in it!”

“Ah!” Zaezel’s eyes glinted, a grin flashing across his face. “What a trick that was! So we have spun back, and I’m insulted!”

“We have come _full circle_, as they say,” the vampire smiled. 

“You’re too fun! Nobody catches my ploy to pass back my way, otherwise I would get tired of doing it.”

“Would you go all night, back and forth like this?” 

“No, no, I can only take it so long before I get onto something serious.”

“Yes, it leaves little room for more personal conversation. Look how we’ve been doing this and I know nothing other than your name.” 

Zaezel stretched his arms and made a muffled little noise as his shoulders loosened up. The vampire put his hands on his hips. 

“Well then,” the vampire began, “I’m sure my most glorious countenance is something you withhold your curiosity about.”

“Yes, yes. Very showy, I admire it. What is there to ask about your face? Unless you want me to ask about your ridiculously pointy nose.”

The Count clutched his nose. “The Count’s nose is not ridiculous! It is my most proud feature!”

“And not your expansive set of ears?” 

“Ah!” He gasped. “You insult me!”  
  
“I’m kidding, they’re lovely ears.”

“That is more like it!”

“I do enjoy…” he swept his arms out at his sides, recreating the span of the Count’s wings.

  
“Oh, yes, my wings are dazzling, are they not?” He pulled one up to half-conceal his face, peering over the edge. “And they function just as well as a cape.”

“Mine don’t.”

The Count’s brow furrowed. He dropped the seam of his wing, rounding the demon. He walked slowly, his eyes peering for some sort of deception.

“You cannot be hiding wings in that coat! I cannot believe it. Unless they are itty bitty little wings.”

“Not as big as yours, but not miniscule. I would show you, but I want to maintain some decency. That’s been difficult, anyway. Your coven seems to be set against me.”

“Do not fret over them. They do not trust newcomers. But I am sure Palethorn must trust you as much as he does me. We have known each other for many years, you know.”

“I...Have not known him so long. I know little about him other than his aspiration to become a recreation of Zarok.”

“Well, he would like to _not_ end up as the sorcerer did.”

“My weak ambition keeps me from ever going that far. Maybe you can occupy the office of supervillain, but I was never so brutal.”

The vampire reclined, hovering in the air. He waved his hand. 

“It takes the best, of course. I have walked this Earth for a thousand years, I am beyond powerful enough to take on one silly little skeleton. You, I am afraid...”

“Right, I would be too _scared_ to take on a bundle of bones held by plate mail. I remember the first time I saw him all those years ago, the first time he rose from death--”

“You were there? Are you as old as I?”

“I would figure it. Would you believe that was 500 years ago? When you’ve slept much of the time between, it’s easy to forget.”

“Hah, I understand you very well, my friend!” The Count scoffed. 

Zaezel giggled. It amazed him to have such an engaging conversation when only an hour or so ago he feared he would be killed by boredom. The vampire understood his humor and he felt no hostility from the Count. _He isn’t too poor a friend, not at all, though his choice of clothing is...questionable. But again, which one of us is wearing pants?_

“Well,” the demon declared, “Thank you for such a delightful exchange.” He turned to exit the room.

“What? You’re not leaving, are you?” 

“I have nothing better planned.”

“Then stay!” 

Zaezel paused. He turned to face him. 

“Please, just don't let me be bored. The others are tedious and there's nothing to do in my bedroom.” 

“I will play you music then! The violins can invigorate even the most dreary hearts!” At that, the musician vampire with his violin joined the ensemble. The notes sung sweet and vibrant in Zaezel’s ears. 

“Darling music.”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“I haven’t danced in so long…”

The Count grabbed his hand. Zaezel’s height took him by surprise, the vampire stopping to look up at the demon, who easily had a couple inches of height over him. He expected him to be smaller in close proximity, maybe that was the difference in physique playing on his perception. Any other day and the count stood the tallest resident in Wulfrum Hall. Hard to guide a dance as the smaller dancer.

Zaezel awaited his direction.

“This is odd. I am always the lead.”

“Oh,” Zaezel huffed, “Just go ahead, I haven’t the means to judge you.”

The Count put a hand on his waist, the demon held his shoulders, and they danced. They passed circles, rounding the floor in noble sweeps, the vampire leading him by the hip into elegant arcs of motion. Zaezel felt words escape him, casual conversation given and then returned by the Count, but his ears only registered the swell of violin and cello. The words fell out of their mouths into buzzing, vibrating air that stripped them of reality. 

Their bodies drew across the floor, Zaezel’s coat billowing with the gusts created by their spinning, and then at times they would not touch the floor--the ball of his foot would lift and the two would glide, touch the earth again, and then be whisked into the air once more. The dance dizzied him, his mind caught up in too swift a choreography for the body to fall into step with, but what a merry fugue. Throughout the hum persisted, his mind quivered as if riding on the band’s strings. There was only air and the trilling expanse they occupied. 

He hardly met the Count’s eyes when they spun. The vampire’s hand, firm on his side, provided stability, and to look in his eyes threw off any grounding. He caught them like flashes glinting in his peripheral vision. When the vampire centered Zaezel, nudging his shoulder with his other hand, the demon looked into his face. _Great rapture’s fire, his eyes like coals! Hues of flame and the infernal furnace, subdue me! The power of his steps, the grandeur of his movement, I could be spinning into eternity. Oh, his eyes…! It makes me so--_

“Hungry?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“I asked if you were hungry.” 

Zaezel blinked and replied, “Yes.”_ Is it over? Is the magic of that dance dead, dispelled, forgotten? The spell lingers, like a fine cloud, warm in the air_. “I am.” His legs shuddered beneath him.

“I am.”


End file.
